


Verisimilitude

by Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun



Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Adventure, Caves, Clairvoyance, Exhaustion, Fremennik, Gen, Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Second Age, Strange Glowing Rocks In Caves, Tags Are Fun, Trans Male Character, Transformation, Transitioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 18:44:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15273894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun/pseuds/Zanik_of_the_Dorgeshuun
Summary: The tale of a young Fremennik seer who longs to be a warrior, his voyage to find an artefact of power, and the vigour and veracity that it brings him.An origin story for V.





	Verisimilitude

Though life as a seer wasn't the future he wished for, it certainly had its benefits.

When he hadn't even seen five winters, the elders had ignored his cries for the hunters not to go out tonight; they had believed him when only one of them came back, skin covered in clawed wounds.

When a few more winters had passed, he had warned the tribe of invaders to the north; they had believed him this time, remembering the last. When their ambush caught their would-be invaders unprepared, they had credited him with saving the tribe, holding a feast in his honour.

When he came of age, he had pleaded the elders to let him do so as a man, that his female appearance belied the truth of his male soul; they had believed him, and he wore the men's ceremonial attire as he was granted his adult name. He hadn't liked the name much, and tried various others; in the end, what stuck was simply his first initial.

When a vast battle was looming, he had made the case that his presence as strategist would be necessary; they had believed him, and allowed him to join the warriors under heavy guard. He wasn't as directly involved as he'd hoped to be – he'd been armed, but his guard never let the battle reach him. Yet he'd revelled in the battle regardless, and been among the cheering crowds lauding the survivors as heroes.

But when he urged them to let him pick up blade and shield for himself, assured them that he could fight among the warriors as an equal, they had not believed him. Truth be told, his short stature and lack of strength meant he bowed under the weight of most weapons, and training was doing frustratingly little to help. Yet he was determined to persevere.

When his dreams filled with thoughts of hidden power in a cavern, he had insisted that he make the journey alone; they had believed him, but only allowed him to leave after repeated attempts to send an escort.

He refused it all. No guard to protect him, no guide to aid him. He would do _this_ , at least, on his own – and there was nothing that could stop him.

* * *

Though he'd never admit it, his limbs were turning to lead. His stubborn legs trod onward in spite of it, crunching through the cavern. Each step left a dark footprint that disappeared into black as his torchlight moved ever on.

The belt that drew his furs around him was beginning to feel like a vice, constricting his breathing in the thin air. His pack felt like a world's weight on his back. He exhaled clouds with every breath; the particles dissipated as they reached his torch, the one beacon of light and heat in this tunnel.

He refused to consider that it might go out. It would not happen.

Stepping onwards, then. He kept moving, no matter what: against the cold, against the difficult terrain, against his own growing exhaustion. He felt as if the tunnel was tilting downwards, but the dimensions of the space he existed in were beginning to slip out of his mind.

His steps were becoming more like kicks, futile stubs at the rocky ground. His breaths were faint, useless gasps. He staggered onwards, stumbled –

He didn't even notice his body's impact on the ground.

_The cave came to him in his dreams once more. Long and dark and winding ever downwards, but not infinite: it concluded in one wide open cavern, flooded with light._

_This was familiar. What came next was not._

_For the first time, he saw the source of that light: a smooth round stone, grey yet glowing a warm gold, a honeycomb of channels etched over its surface. Dark rock surrounded it, but was clearly not the same as it: the stone was not of this world._

_He could see it, at last. He was drawn to it, more than ever. He could reach forward, stretch out a hand, touch it –_

He opened his eyes. In the darkness, it made no difference.

He was prone in a twisted position, his legs sprawled over each other, his arm tangled up in his pack's straps. He propped up his body on the wall, feeling for the ground and knocking the handle of his extinguished torch. Awareness came slowly, and with it a realisation: he was at the end of a downwards incline. His body must have rolled all the way down.

A new strength was coming to him, too. With it, he stood up once more – not quite with ease, but steadily all the same. He picked up the torch; its light was gone, but he felt he'd need it regardless.

The destination was clear in his mind. He knew exactly where to go.

More walking, then: each step brought a tiny growth in his power. He continued, and began to hear it, the low hum of magic in the air. Seams of golden light dappled the walls. He traced them with fingertips, feeling the slightest surge of strength.

He knew the light. He'd seen it. It wasn't as bright, though. Not yet. He had to keep on going.

Steps more, and he could feel his body tingle, a harmonious buzzing in tune with the hum he heard. Closer. He felt primed to explode as he walked on and on, with some danger instinct telling him to go back – it was forced down – not now, not so close to his goal.

An opening in the rock. The streaks of light looked like candles against the sun shining out. His inner voice was screaming to leave in the shrill, high-pitched way that he hated; he forced that part of himself quiet.

The young man entered the light. 

He brushed aside the strands of hair that hung constantly over his eyes, even though the light nearly blazed right through them. He wanted and needed the fullest view: there, at last, was what he had dreamed of.

The dream had been compelling, but the physical presence was addicting. He approached, shaking in the light, knowing he could take no step back. Everything he needed was here. Was _his._

Palm outstretched, lowering onto the surface, making contact as if it was born to be there—

He recoiled, though not by will – by will, he would have stayed there forever. No, his body was convulsing, changing beyond what he knew.

Doubling over. Muscles contracting, and expanding as they relaxed. Bones shifting; in all this power, he felt no pain.

He stood up taller than he had been before.

He faced the stone again, seeing himself reflected. He recognised the face as his: not the false one he had worn for years, but something truer. Though he had always been a man, this was the first time he felt it to be physical fact.

Even now, his features shifted, and he felt they could shift more still. He reached out again, willing it faster than his muscles could manage, feeling as if even a second without its full power would be hell—

The stone was snatched away, vanished in an instant, leaving only the rock that surrounded it.

He cursed, voice gruff like granite. He pounded a fist on grey rock – a sudden thrill of energy! The shimmering remnants of power still rang there, a trace of warmth in an increasingly cold cavern.

There was a trace of glow there, too – enough to light the empty cave. His torch was useless in his hand, so he broke off some stone to light his way. It was strange how easy it was, like breaking a chunk of bread. His greater strength? Perhaps, but the rock seemed softer. He felt like he could mould it in his hands.

Could he?

Curious, he brought it to the tip of his torch. A burst of flame! Fire had lit itself on his torch anew, a vivid red tinged with the traces of that gold.

A fascinating discovery...

After gathering more of this wondrous stone, V turned to return. The Fremennik had to know.

* * *

Reactions had been mixed on his return. A disagreement became a schism, with those who used the stone fleeing to the island of its source.

Yet V endured as a hero for both sides. He was the founder of a new form of magic, yet he came to be a fierce fighter on the field of battle. The axe he swung felt one with him, gliding in tandem with the force of his body. Initially, he was competent; in time, he was unparallelled.

Knowledge of his early life would fade over time. Yet stories of his accomplishments would endure. Discoveries he had made, wars he had won, lives he had saved.

V: the seer, the warrior, the hero.

**Author's Note:**

> and there ya have it, the latest of my every-few-months fanfic updates. see ya whenever the next one is


End file.
